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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26810269">Prawn</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pogopop/pseuds/pogopop'>pogopop</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Daredevil (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:53:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26810269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/pogopop/pseuds/pogopop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt’s beautiful when he’s passionate like this. Well, Matt’s always beautiful, but moreso when he’s lit by the fires of righteousness. Matt makes a particularly vociferous point, and the precariously-balanced single noodle makes its escape. It flies through the air and flops onto the ground to Matt’s right. Matt evidently hears the plop, and pauses mid-sentence, head turned sharply to the side.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Matt Murdock &amp; Franklin "Foggy" Nelson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>43</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Prawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>College fic. I don't know anything about any campus these two might have been to, so please ignore those details.</p><p>This was born out of a sprint in the Team Red server.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They’re crammed onto a step, hip to knee, paper containers balanced on their laps, their coats pulled tight around them against the Fall wind. Foggy watches as Matt waves around his chopsticks, emphasising his speech. There’s a small noodle trapped at the tip, between the two sticks, and Foggy follows its path in fascination. Matt’s hardly touched his food, he’s been speaking so much. Foggy has only been needed for supportive noises, which has meant he’s been able to devote himself to his own meal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been Foggy’s turn to sneak out the fire door that’s never alarmed, around the side of the library and across the quad to the dining hall, collecting two noodle dinners for them. In the few minutes that he was gone, Matt had evidently been perusing a particularly inspiring letter of Thurgood Marshall’s. And now here Foggy is, sitting on a cold concrete step, watching Matt let his dinner go cold.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt’s beautiful when he’s passionate like this. Well, Matt’s always beautiful, but moreso when he’s lit by the fires of righteousness. Matt makes a particularly vociferous point, and the precariously-balanced single noodle makes its escape. It flies through the air and flops onto the ground to Matt’s right. Matt evidently hears the plop, and pauses mid-sentence, head turned sharply to the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy shakes his head. “I didn’t notice anything. You were saying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt shakes his head and dips it slightly, stabbing at his noodles. He turns his food over, unearthing a king prawn. Foggy looks down at his own nearly-empty bowl. “I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying</span>
  </em>
  <span> that we all need to do our part. Injustice doesn’t sleep. It doesn’t go away because we can’t be bothered doing something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy makes an agreeable noise, and puts some more noodles in his own mouth. He’s not really listening to Matt, but he does wonder if Matt will notice if he spears that prawn. He spends a few moments considering the likelihood, before he decides to risk it. Stealth will, of course, be of the essence. Foggy knows how observant (is that only for sight? Audi-vant? Soni-vant?) Matt is, and that he’s very hard to fool. Not that Foggy would ever try to do it in any kind of a malicious way. If he nabs that prawn it won’t hurt Matt, and Foggy will be able to call himself victor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever so carefully, he transfers his fork to his left hand, so that Matt won’t feel the movement of his right, squished together as they are. He thanks his lucky stars he didn’t grab chopsticks, because there’s no way he’d be able to control them with his non-dominant hand. Matt always goes for the chopsticks - it’s like a point of pride for him, so that’s what Foggy brought him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy inches his left hand towards Matt’s food. The shrimp is luscious and plump, shining on top of the barely-touched noodles. It is Foggy’s, he knows it. Foggy stretches fork out, extending his fingers. Matt grips his bowl again, probing it with the chopsticks as he talks. Foggy makes another noise of agreement and jostles Matt slightly with his right hand, as though he were scooping some of his own food, while he dives in for the kill with his left, spearing the fat body. And just like that, the prawn is his. Matt makes no sign of having noticed. Fogy pops the prawn into his mouth. It is as delicious as expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy switches his fork back to his right. Best not push his luck. He returns to the remnants of his own food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt finishes his sentence, his paragraph and his passage, and daintily swirls noodles around, before un-daintily scooping them into his mouth. He chews for a few moments, then swallows. “And you know,” Matt continues, “We need to work hard to not be perpetrators of injustice, whether knowing or unknowing. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For example, </span>
  </em>
  <span>taking advantage of a friend’s disability to </span>
  <em>
    <span>steal their food!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy freezes, mouth half full, eyes darting to Matt’s face then back to each of their food containers. Matt turns his head full on to face him, eyebrows rising above the lenses of his glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy quails. “Um,” he squeaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you have to say for yourself, Nelson?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Foggy looks down. “Um,” he says again. “What?” In his head, he can hear his mother telling him how rewarding it would be to serve his community, as their friendly neighbourhood butcher. If he’d decided on that route he never would have ended up with this insufferable, handsome bastard for a best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Matt parrots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I plead the Fifth,” is all Foggy can think to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt reaches over and lifts Foggy’s container, evidently feeling how empty it is before dropping it back in Foggy’s lap. His brows come down in a frown, but Foggy can see the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I’m disappointed in you, Nelson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been sitting here like a good little best friend, listening to you monologuing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t monologuing,” Matt says, a little stiffly, before filling his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you were, buddy. Anyway,” Foggy says, stretching his arms up and feeling the cricks in his back crack themselves out, “I vote that we call it a night. Let’s grab our stuff, go get a drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt nods, mouth full of noodles. He gestures vaguely with the chopsticks, and Foggy pats him on the shoulder. “Yeah, finish your cold food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt swallows his mouthful. “You know,” he says, smiling, “I think drinks are on you tonight.” </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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